A Falling Star Can Rise Again
by CupcakesOnMyConverse
Summary: The real story behind Santana's boob job. Or, the water bra that she says is a boob job. How does Santana deal with everything in her world falling apart? She learns to get through it with the help of an unexpected friend. Rated T for some language.


_Boob job. Santana Lopez. Over the summer. No way. Seriously? Scandalous. _

Santana just struts down the hallway as if she doesn't hear the whispers. Hands on the hips, ponytail swinging in time with her steps, and eyes gazing at nothing in particular, as if there was a party going on in her mind and _you _were not invited. This is how Santana gets through the day, because if she focuses on anything other than keeping her cool, then cracks start to form in her charade. And when you're head cheerio, there's no room for cracks. Santana has to be perfect, and even if she isn't, she has to act that way.

The funny thing is, she didn't even get a boob job. Santana had no surgery over the summer, in fact. The explanation for her new increase in cup-size was all due to the water bra that she had stolen from her cousin in July. Santana hadn't really planned on wearing it to school. She had just liked the way she'd looked in the mirror, and figured she could use it as a confidence boost every now and again. But when a little birdie-cough, cough...Brittany...cough , cough- had told her that Quinn Fabray was back on the squad, Santana knew that she had to do something. Something drastic. Something that would ensure that _she_ remained head cheerio, not little-miss-perfect. Somehow Quinn had always found a way to take away Santana's spotlight, and Santana was determined to keep it this time. This was something Quinn would not steal from her.

Santana had a really hard time coming up with something. But when she found the water bra at the bottom of her duffel bag, the plan had unfolded out right before her eyes. Quinn's return to school would not outshine Santana's new...enhancements. She'd make sure of it.

And the plan had worked like a charm. The second she'd walked into school, Santana could feel everyone's eyes on her. Quinn stood at her locker, obviously feeling out of place without the usual attention she was paid. For the first time in her life, Quinn was totally and completely alone. No boyfriend, no friends, no baby, and no Cheerio's uniform. For once, Santana was the shining star. And she absolutely loved every last second of it.

And when some obnoxious football player shouted "nice boob job!" across the hallway, it only made Santana's life easier. Because instead of spreading outlandish rumors all by herself, this jerk had already done it for her. As much of an asshole as he was, this guy had done Santana a fantastic favor. So all Santana did was stop in her tracks, turn, and wink at him. Everyone was speechless as she continued her journey down the hallway and around the corner.

Confidence soaring, Santana started walking down the next hall when she spotted Finn at Rachel's locker. Not knowing where it was coming from, she smirked at Rachel as if to say "_been there, done that_". Rachel stared at her, dumbfounded as to the reason for the sneer. Of course, Finn was totally captivated by her cleavage, which made Santana's day even better.

Santana made it to her first period Spanish class just seconds before the bell rang, finding a seat next to Brittany. She smiled at her friend, then turned to Mr. Shuester, who begin speaking.

"Hola, clase! Bienvenido de nuevo a la escuela! Yo espero que tengais un buen verano," he said, addressing the class. Santana never had trouble with Spanish, only because she had grown up around it. Her mother had spoken it around the house since Santana can remember, so she only took the language for an easy A. Santana glances over at Brittany, who looks utterly confused, and smiles. Brittany can barely understand English, let alone Spanish.

"Vamos a ir alrededor de la habitación y decir lo que hicimos durante el verano. Voy empezar. Este verano, visite mis padres y mis hermanos," Mr. Shue continues. It was obviously a lie. Santana didn't know why she knew, but she had a feeling that Mr. Shue hadn't made any contact with his family over the summer. Which made her wonder, what _did _he do? Now that he was over that awful ex-wife, she wonders what he did to pass the time.

Mr. Shue goes around the room, as promised, asking the same question- what did you do last summer? It was painfully monotonous, so much so, that when he finally reached her, Santana didn't even notice.

"Santana! Le gustaria compartir con nosotros lo que has hecho este verano?" A smirk forms on her face as she figures out what she wants to say.

"Si, lo siento, Señor Shuester. Este verano, tuve la cirugía," Santana says, confidently in a perfect accent. She doubted that anyone knew what she was talking about, but it still amused her. Mr. Shuester, however, looked alarmed.

"¿Estas bien?" he asks. "¿Por que someterse a una operación?"

"Digamos que fue el variedad estetica..." she trails off, glancing down at her chest. Mr. Shue's eyes widen, but he quickly looks away from her, and moves on to Brittany, who when trying to say that she went to cheer camp, instead says she talked to her stuffed animals, neither of which sounded too unlikely for the blonde Cheerio.

8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8

Later that day, Santana is called down to Coach Sylvester's office. Thinking that the coach only wants to discuss routines for the new year, Santana doesn't hesitate when she flounces down the hallway and into the office. She smiles at her coach, not expecting one in return. She doesn't receive one, and isn't surprised. She sits down in the plastic chair across from Coach Sylvester, and waits for her to speak. This is the rule. Speak only if spoken to. To Coach, your worth and value in this world are minimal unless you prove to her otherwise. Santana doesn't want to give her any reason not to think that her value is any less than when the coach appointed her to the top of the pyramid. Finally, Coach Sylvester puts down the pen, and looks up at Santana.

"A little bird told me that someone spent the summer getting a new pair of melons, even though you know I have a strict 'no-plastic' policy in Cheerios. Care to comment?" No, she didn't know that there was a 'no-plastic' rule. Either she wasn't told, or it never seemed important enough for her to remember to care. Santana can't believe she's sitting in Coach's office, getting lectured about a boob job she didn't even get. Maybe letting people assume about the surgery wasn't as good of an idea as she originally thought. Because now someone had let it slip to Sue. And Santana had a feeling that she wouldn't be willing to let this slide.

"I just-" Santana starts, not really sure what she was going to say.

"What would _possess_ someone your age to get a boob-job?" Sue demands, cutting Santana off. "You don't even know what your body is going to look like! It's an _insult_ to nature, and it's _completely _distracting. I can't take my eyes off them. I'm actually _talking _to them right now!" Santana blushes, feeling the heat racing to her face. _"It's just a bra!" _Santana wants to shout. _"I was lying!"_ But she doesn't. Because she has a feeling that committing to a permanent change would make her seem more confident. Lying about it would make her seem even more desperate. Of course, Santana is desperate. But that doesn't matter. When it comes to high school, everything is about appearances. And Santana has to save hers right now. Pulling herself together, she takes a deep breath, and calms herself down.

"I just wanted people to notice me more! I don't see what the big deal is," Santana responds, and it's the truth. She wanted people to notice her so much that they would forget Quinn, the poor teen mother who lost everything in a drunken one night stand with a guy that wasn't her boyfriend. Pitiful.

Sue is more upset than Santana had expected. Actually, Santana hadn't expected Sue to notice, let alone care. But she had. And she can feel her spot as head cheerleader slipping through her fingers faster than she can try to think of a way to stop it.

"Look, the big deal is that a person who has to pump her nonnies full of gravy to feel good about herself clearly doesn't have the self-esteem to be my head cheerleader." Santana's world stops spinning in that moment. If her heart is beating, she can't find it. She can't breathe. She can't speak. She can't do anything but stare as her world begins to fall apart. _"No!" _she wants to scream. _"You can't do this. You can't take this away from me! Not after everything I've done to finally be everything I should be. Not when I've finally become someone I can be proud of."_

"Quinn will replace you."

This is it. Everything Santana has ever lived for this past year has been shattered into a million pieces with no chance of restoring it. Quinn won. Quinn always wins. Little-miss-perfect has done it once again, even when she proved she wasn't as perfect as everyone thought she was. Santana feels tears pricking her eyes, but forces herself to hold them back, trying to retain any sense of dignity she has left. She wants to make up for any chance she still has of remaining head cheerleader. Santana isn't expecting Sue to change her mind, but she's hoping for the best- in this case, hoping for the impossible.

"Wh-what-" Santana chokes, hoping for an explanation. She doesn't get the chance to finish before Sue interrupts her. Again.

"Oh, and Boobs McGee? You're demoted to the bottom of the pyramid," Sue continues. Santana feels her heart drop to her stomach. "So when it collapses, your exploding sandbags will protect the squad from injury." Santana crosses her arms over her chest, and is alarmed at the foreign weight and thickness of the chest. She scowls, only wanting to pop the damn bra and throw it at Sue.

"Now take your juicy, vine-riping chest fruit and get the hell out of my office," Sue spits. Santana retains her composure, and does as Sue said. She's learned that it's best to show Sue that she can't get to you. That she doesn't intimidate you. That's the only way that Sue will ever give her any respect. However, one the door closes behind her, Santana lets out a gut-wrenching sob, and runs down the hallway.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

Santana runs to the choir room, knowing that it won't be in use fifth period. She doesn't intend on attending Chemistry. The subject confused her, and she just wasn't in the mood. She closes the door behind her, and sits in the chair in the far corner, curling up into a ball, and letting the tears run freely down her face.

A part of her has died with her head cheerleader status. The Santana who ruled the school in Quinn's absence. She was only realizing now that everybody assumed she was a substitute. Nobody expected her reign to last very long. And it hadn't. Quinn's flat stomach was back, along with her reign. The thing was, Santana felt wrong just handing it to her. She'd spent forever pretending they were friends, but if she was honest with herself, she hated Quinn with every bone in her body.

She hated Quinn for being too blonde, too beautiful. Too stereotypically attractive that nobody could keep their hands off her. Too smart. Too kind. Too..._perfect._ Too everything that Santana could never be. Santana had never been pretty or funny enough to shine when Quinn was around. Ever since they'd stepped in the same room, Santana could never measure up.

There's only one thing she knows for sure- she can't take the water bra off now. The only thing that would be more humiliating than losing her cheerleader status would be admitting that she'd lied about the boob job. And she can't do that. She can't take anymore embarrassment then having the plan that was supposed to maintain her spot of head cheerleader totally backfire so that she actually lost her spot. She'd handed the spot to Quinn single-handedly. How stupid could one person be?

She doesn't realize how loud she's sobbing until her throat starts to hurt, and she hears the door slam. She looks up and sees Puck, who smirks at her.

"Nice rack," he calls, but she just sighs and rolls her eyes, holding back tears and another heaving sob. When Puck realizes the puffiness of her face and the redness of her eyes, he sees she's been crying, and feels bad for his comment.

"What's wrong?" he asks, crossing the room and sitting down in the chair next to her. She hugs her legs to her chest, and buries her face in her knees, shutting down and refusing to look at him. "Santana, talk to me." Her head snaps up at his comment.

"Since when do you care about me?" she asks, and she really wants an answer. Santana knows that Puck uses her. Santana knows that she's only his booty call when he needs to scratch an itch. And for a while, she didn't mind. To her, sex was sex. It was all the same, no matter who it was with, she figured. Just like pizza. Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good.

But after Puck was rejected by Quinn, things changed with him. Sex changed with him. It was little things at first. Like him murmuring sweet phrases. He told her she was beautiful, that she was special. He held her just a little tighter. It seemed as if he actually wanted her to feel good. She only really noticed when she'd finished first for the first time. And that's when it hit her. For him, he wasn't having sex with Santana. Because Quinn didn't want him, so he just lost himself in sensation. Santana didn't have a face, she didn't have a name. So in his mind, it was Quinn that was squirming under him. It was her pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, not Santana's dark color palette.

If it hadn't been Quinn, Santana doesn't think it would hurt quite this much. Quinn had quite literally taken everything away from her. Even her boy toy. Her bed buddy. Her friend with benefits. That was the one thing that used to make Santana feel good. And now every time Puck texted her asking her if she was alone, she just felt worthless. She felt like a cheap whore that Puck used at his disposal.

"Leave me alone," she hisses, and hits him. He doesn't react. Her skinny arms have nothing on his thick, toned, muscular biceps, and she knows it. She's powerless against him. "Please, just go away!" she screams, but he doesn't make any move to go. She stares at him, willing him to just go, but he doesn't. She hits him again, but she's too weak to wear him down in any way.

"Please, Santana, just let me ask you something," Puck says, calmly, even when Santana is freaking out. She looks at him- the guy who had taken her virginity freshman year and had shared her bed ever since. Not once had he been there for her. Not like this. Santana never really had anybody. Her mother was always too drunk, and Brittany was too scatter-brained to understand. He looks into her eyes as if he's searching for something, but she doesn't know what he's looking for. All he ever saw in her was a fuck-buddy, why would today be any different?

But when Puck looks at her now, for the first time he sees her as a person. With feelings and emotions just like everyone else on the Earth. Just like him. He knows he's been wrong to use her like he has, threading his fingers through her hair and pretending it was blonde, looking into her eyes and pretending they were blue. But for the first time in a long time, he looks at her, and he sees Santana. And she's more beautiful than he remembered. He doesn't know why it took red eyes and a puffy face for him to see it, but he's been taking Santana for granted. He's been using her for something that Quinn will never give him- love. Sex. And everything else in between.

"Why did you think you needed to do this to yourself?" he asks, and his pitying eyes is all Santana needed to break down. She doesn't want to be pitied.

"Leave me alone, Puckerman," Santana whispers. "Please."

"You're beautiful, Santana really. You didn't need to do that for me to notice," Puck tells her, and as he says it, he realizes it's the truth.

"Then why is this the first time you're telling me?" Santana asks. "I've let you jack-rabbit fuck the shit out of me for years, and you've only told me that I'm beautiful in the heat of the moment. And even I know it's not me that you're saying it to." The words sting both of them, and they both flinch. It's harsh, but true.

"I don't know," Puck tells her honestly. "I don't know what's wrong with me...but I'm sorry for it. But this isn't about me, Santana. You seriously didn't need to get a boob job."

"I didn't!" Santana shrieks before she can stop herself. "I didn't get a freaking boob job, Puck!"

"...what?"

"It's a bra. A fucking water bra! I only _told _everyone I got a boob job!" Santana realizes she sounds like a lunatic, but right now, she really doesn't care.

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter, Puckerman. But just know this, I will never give myself up to you again. Don't bother calling. I'm not going to answer." Santana explains, laughing because of how ridiculous it sounds. Then she laughs harder because she sounds so incredibly insane. And the tears rush back to her eyes and she has no idea why. Losing head cheerleader? Losing Puck? Losing any dignity she had left? Then the tears spill over once again because she realizes she never had any of those things in the first place.

And that's when she stands up and leaves the room, to find the girl who stole it all away.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

Santana doesn't have to look long. Quinn is walking down the hall like it's her catwalk. Her inexplicable magnetism is back, somehow in full force. Her ponytail is tight, her Cheerios uniform perfectly pressed, and her eyes fixed on the end of the hall. It's all a show of course, Santana knows. Quinn is alone at this school, even if she is head cheerleader, but still the crowd loves her.

Santana can't help but look at herself in comparison. She must look like a lunatic, tearing down the hall, eyes wild, uniform wrinkled and crooked, hair falling out of its elastic. When Santana's eyes zero in on the blonde girl she wants to tear apart, she races down the hall. Quinn doesn't seem to see her, but when Santana slams the girl into the lockers, Quinn pushes her away. And before Santana can think, when their bodies fall out of contact, she's shrieking at the top of her lungs.

"You did this to me! You told Coach Sylvester about my summer surgery!" Santana knows people are watching, and she doesn't care. Let them stare. _Watch and learn, losers, _Santana catches herself thinking as she waits for the blonde to respond.

"You get surgery when you get your appendix out," Quinn responds, sounding calm and collected unlike the lunatic that has taken over Santana. However, the evil venom is injected in her tone, and Santana knows that Quinn isn't as perfect as she'd like people to think. "_You _got a _boob job_." Somehow, weather through the tone of her voice or the glint in her blue eyes, but Santana knows that Quinn is aware that there was no boob job. Quinn is much smarter than Santana, though. More meticulous about how she ascends the pyramid. So when she saw an opportunity to kick Santana off, she took it.

"Yup, sure did!" Santana screams, and slaps Quinn across the face. _That's for taking my top of the pyramid._

"You can't hit me!" Quinn squeals, obviously unsure as to what to say. This eggs Santana on, feeling the overwhelming sense of power fill her, and knowing that the whole school is watching her put Quinn Fabray back in her place as she says the next line.

"Sure I can, unless you got yourself knocked up again, _slut_!"

Santana can't really tell what's happening until she hits the lockers, and she realizes it's Quinn this time who thrust her there. She'd underestimated the strength in those dainty, pale, arms.

Suddenly, some sort of fight instinct takes over Santana's body and mind, and the two girls are going at each other. Santana reaches for the blonde ponytail, and yanks down as hard as she possibly can. She elicits a yelp from Quinn, and she smiles. _That's for taking Puck. _Next, Santana punches the girl in the stomach, exactly where she'd wanted to punch her for the entire pregnancy, and smirks as a whoosh of air escapes Quinn's lips. _That's for stealing my spotlight._

When Quinn hits the floor, Santana feels as if she is inflicting every bit of indignity on the girl that has given it to her. She wants to sneer- _do you feel it, Quinn? Do you feel how shitty it feels to be at the very bottom?_

Just as she is preparing to kick Quinn down as she attempts to stand, she catches a voice in the crowd so familiar that it brings her up short. _Brittany_. The only one that could ever reach Santana in a moment like this. She looks up, and meets the blue eyes that she's trusted for so long. For some reason, she stops. She isn't sure what Brittany said, but she stops. And then she hears a familiar male voice, and recognizes it. Mr. Shuester. Who she'd outright flaunted her "surgery" in front of. She feels embarrassed,and is surprised when she doesn't blush. Maybe she's too angry, too confused.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" he's shouting, getting between the two girls, and attempting to break up the fight. Santana has to hold herself back from punching Mr. Shuester in an attempt to get back to Quinn, because in some small part of her mind that is thinking logically, she knows that hitting a teacher has much worse consequences than she already is going to have to face. "What is this? We're _supposed_ to be a family!" This makes Santana angrier. Quinn had never been a sister to her. Not in the slightest. Well, actually, maybe she had. The over-achieving older sister that gets all the attention and makes her younger siblings look like crap. Yep, maybe Quinn had been her sister all along.

Santana looks up, and sees that Quinn is struggling to get out of Mr. Shuester's grasp. She sees that Quinn's eyes are flooded with tears. From anger? From losing the support of a Cheerio? Or losing someone she'd thought was a friend? No, that's impossible. If Quinn thought Santana was her friend, she wouldn't have told Coach about the boob job that Quinn knew Santana didn't get.

"Oh, please," Santana says, pushing away from Mr. Shue, her voice rising again. "She has a family, she's a _mother_." Quinn's eyes darken in frustration and anger. It seems as if she wants to lunge at Santana again, but Mr. Shuester is still restraining. Santana begins to walk away, until she hears Quinn shout something back at her.

"_Walk away! _And tighten up your pony before you get to class!"

Santana stops in her tracks. The condescending tone in Quinn's voice. She heard the old authority that used to be there is back. But this time, she was less than willing to bend to Quinn's command. In an act of defiance to the girl that had stolen away everything that Santana thought she'd had, she doesn't turn around, but lets her dark curls out of its ponytail, shaking them out before continuing down the hall. She feels Brittany's small hand on her shoulder, but doesn't acknowledge it.

The turn around the corner has a note of finality to it. Their mutual tolerance of each other is over. It wasn't ever really friendship, just acceptance that they will never really get along. As Santana walks away from the fight, she knows that the real battle that she's fighting against Quinn is far from over.

As she walks away, she realizes she doesn't feel the way she'd expected. She'd hoped this would feel good, but it didn't. Because once again, Quinn got the final word, even though Santana had instigated the whole interaction. And on top of that, she'd probably get detention if not suspension. Santana, though she doesn't show it, walks away from the catfight feeling like even more of an idiot than she did before.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

As the final bell rings, Santana realizes that she has to show up at practice. She doesn't have a choice, really, if she wants to remain a part of the Cheerios. And at the moment, her uniform is really the only thing she has going for her.

It's embarrassing, being on the bottom of the pyramid. It could quite possibly be the most humiliating part of her day. Kneeling next to the guys and the freshman who were smiling giddily just because they were allowed to be here, she feels the weight pile on top of her as more and more people step on her. What hurt her the most, was knowing that just last week she was at the very top.

"Very good, Quinn," Coach says, and this is like a stab in the chest. Sue very rarely offers praise, and the fact that Quinn receives it in the first pyramid at the first practice is humiliating. Santana can't recall Coach Sylvester ever telling her that she did a good job.

As the coach dismisses them, she gives Santana a long, pitying glance. It says, I really feel bad for you, Lopez. Santana looks away, and follows all the other girls back into the school.

Nobody so much as speaks to her when she reaches the locker room. Not even Brittany, who is helping Becky put her bag together. Santana puts on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and grabs her bag. She puts up her hood, avoiding the eyes of everyone.

Everyone knows that just this morning, Santana Lopez had everything. And in less than eight hours, she'd lost it all.

Walking out of the locker room feels like admitting defeat, and in a way, she has.

Santana hears Brittany's shouted goodbye, but doesn't acknowledge it.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

Santana fights back tears all the way from the locker room, and lowers her face so she's unrecognizable. It doesn't work. She hears Puck's voice calling her name from across the parking lot. He's still in his football uniform, and with his muscles straining against his tight pants, and the sweat making his skin sheen, it's hard not to be attracted to him. Still, she forces herself to ignore him, and continues walking towards her car. He hears him call her several more times before approaching her.

"Santana," he says, and he's out of breath when she says her name. It triggers something in her, hearing him say her name this way, panted, a smile in his tone. She scowls at him.

"If what I said earlier wasn't clear enough, let me reiterate. I don't want to talk to you ever again," Santana says, and she knows she's being melodramatic. She deserved to be a little melodramatic, though, after the day she'd had. Puck looks taken aback, which only angers Santana further. Did he think she was kidding earlier?

"What? Why?"

"Because you don't have sex with me because you love me, or even particularly care for me. You have sex with me because you're feeling shitty about yourself. You have sex with me because I'm there and I'm willing. You have sex with me because Quinn won't. And I'm done being second place to Quinn. So don't bother apologizing because I know you don't mean it. I'm just your midnight booty call, Puckerman. The girl who is so freaking attached to you because you got her drunk and convinced her that 'having some fun' would be a good idea. I was lying, Puck. I _was _a virgin. There, I said it. So just run along, and find some other young and naïve girl to screw around with." The words are harsh, and only somewhat true. Santana cares for Puck, no matter how hard she tries to deny it. A part of her always will, because he was her first. And second, and third, and fourth.

She doesn't allow herself more than a second's glance at his shell-shocked face before turning around, and continuing to her car. She was sure that several Cheerios and even a few football players heard everything she'd just said, but at the moment she could really care less. She slams the door shut, and peels out of the parking lot as fast as was legal.

Santana only catches a glimpse of Puck's face in the rear-view mirror before she turns the corner. He looks hurt, but she can't bring herself to care. In her mind, she says goodbye to him. To the sex.

Goodbye, and good riddance.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

Santana has given up having any expectations when she comes home from Cheerio's practice. Everyday it's something different. Sometimes, her mom was home, shitfaced and drunk-dialing everyone in her contact list. Sometimes she wasn't there. Sometimes she was passed out on the floor. Today, Santana was just hoping she wouldn't be there. She really didn't want to have a one-sided conversation that her mom wouldn't even remember in the morning.

However, the odds have not been in Santana's favor as of late, so she's disappointed when she sees her mother's car in the driveway. When she walks in the door, she sees her mother on the couch with a bottle of pinot grigio in one hand and a gallon of Ben and Jerry's in the other, surprisingly conscious and half-sober.

Her mom's head snaps up when the door slams shut, and she scans Santana up and down, and snorts. "Rough day?" she asks, gulping down another mouthful of wine. Santana doesn't bother answering, and stomps up the stairs to her room. She throws her school bags down on the floor. There was no way she was going to be able to do her homework tonight. Her mind was too much of a mess to even consider it. When Santana looks at herself in the mirror, she jumps. It doesn't look like her at all. Well, it does. The tight ponytail, the tan skin. The toned legs and figure. But her chest was still noticeably bigger underneath her over-sized sweatshirt. And her eyes lost the fire they normally contained.

Santana takes off her clothes, and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra. She just pulls the navy sports bra on over the water bra, just in case anyone from school happened to be in the neighborhood. It's uncomfortably tight, but she ignores it, and runs back down the stairs, ignoring her mother, and walking out the door. Her muscles ache from the grueling Cheerios practice, but she attempts to forget that, and moves down the streets as fast as she can.

Santana hasn't been running in a really long time. Not since the summer before freshman year, when she lost twenty pounds of baby fat in three months. There hasn't been a need since. Her figure had sort of maintained itself. But running had always been kind of a solace for her. It calmed her down, gave her some peace. The sun was setting over Lima, Ohio, and it was dark. It didn't matter though, Santana knew this neighborhood inside and out, and could find her way home even if she was blindfolded. She didn't really have a route in mind as she ran through the streets. She just let her mind run wild as she tore through the neighborhood.

When she finally looked up, she found herself at the community playground where she used to spend hours on the swings, slides, and monkey-bars. She and Brittany used to hang upside-down from the monkey-bars and have tea parties in second grade. She smiles at the memory. Things were so simple then. No sex. No boys. No betrayal. No fighting for head cheerleader. And definitely no water-bras. Santana sits down on a swing, and listens to the sounds of the night. She scans, the playground, and sees the cemetery right next to it.

She'd always found it ironic that a place filled with so much life, in the daytime at least, was built right next to the town cemetery. However, she sees someone standing there. The figure is slight, definitely not a man. A woman or a young man. The person is kneeling next to a headstone, and seems to be speaking to it. She frowns, and thinks to herself. _"It could have been worse. Someone could have died."_

But then it hits her. Someone had. Santana had. Not literally of course, but parts of her had. Parts she could never get back.

The figure says its final goodbyes, and walks away, towards the playground. Santana gets nervous. She doesn't want to see someone grieving over a loved one. Her own pain was enough for her to take. But as the person gets closer and closer, she starts to recognize the face.

"Kurt?" she calls out, not quite sure why. He seems to look up, as if searching for what had called his name. When he spots her, he crinkles his eyebrows. He recognizes her, he's just not sure why she's calling him.

"Santana?" he asks in the high-pitched voice that can only be Kurt's. He starts walking over to her, and sits in the swing next to hers. "What are you doing here?" he asks her, and she shrugs.

"Thinking," she says, and her voice is flat and unrecognizable. He nods.

"Me too," he says, glancing over at the cemetery, and back at his feet. Santana remembers that Kurt had lost his mom when he was younger, and she felt bad, though she's kind of jealous. She'd rather her mom be dead than a drunk.

For a second, Santana asks herself why she's bothering talking to Kurt. She never had before, in fact whenever she'd spoken to him in the past, she'd usually been teasing him about how openly gay he was. She feels sorry in this instant, but doesn't apologize. She then wonders why Kurt is still here, still talking to her. She wasn't worth his time. She is bully- someone who would always bring him down. Someone who would never approve of his sexuality. That's what he assumed, at least. And really, she just doesn't have the energy to come up with some clever comment about gays.

"I heard about your...surgery," Kurt continues, meeting her eyes. "And I want you to know that I didn't believe it for a second. I know you're lying." Santana is shocked. No one apart from Quinn had figured it out. And Quinn was oddly devious and smart.

"Wha-"

"You're not the type, Santana," Kurt says before she can finish her question. Santana swallows, unsure how to respond to that. How would Kurt know what "type" she was? He didn't know her. He hadn't talked to her. He'd sat back and taken her verbal abuse ever since she can remember.

"You don't know me," Santana whispers, though she knows he's right.

"As much as I hate to admit it, you _are _beautiful, Santana. And you know it, too," Kurt continues, ignoring her comment. "You didn't do this because you wanted more attention. You did this because you wanted more attention than Quinn." Somehow, Kurt is reading her like a book. He's understanding everything without her having to tell him. She'd never admit it, but this is exactly what Santana needs. Someone to explain to her how she's feeling. To lay it all out, plain and simple.

"I know," she whispers, because he's right, and she knows it. "It's strange, but you're the only one who gets it." Kurt shrugs modestly. It's silent for awhile. The sun has sunk back behind the horizon, and it's dark. Santana is still in a sports bra, but she isn't cold. The crickets are out, chirping a beautiful nighttime song. The stars are shining bright.

Santana looks up at them, and she realizes she's never felt so small in her entire life. That in comparison, Santana's life means very little. Her pain is very unsubstantial to the stars. The stars have seen everything- everyone's pain. Pain much worse than hers. Santana knows that things could be worse. Much worse. But in this moment, it feels like it wouldn't get better.

Glancing at the boy beside her, her thoughts are confirmed. Kurt has been to hell and back, and is still standing. He'd lost a mother, come out to his father, dealt with bullying from all walks of life, and so much more. Kurt knows pain, probably much more than Santana does.

"How do you do it?" Santana asks, looking at Kurt. "I mean, our situations are completely different, but how do you deal with...everything?" The question sounds ridiculous coming out of her mouth, but Kurt understands what she means. Kurt doesn't know what to tell her. In his mind, he hasn't dealt with anything. But he decides that Santana deserves some sort of answer. He can't reject someone who looks so dejected.

"Well, I've come to learn that what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger," Kurt says ambiguously, hoping that Santana will make something out of that. He doesn't know why, but he wants to help her. He'd underestimated her- thinking that she was shallow and stupid. A girl who slept with guys to increase her popularity. But Kurt was just now seeing that she was so much more. "It's not the end of the world, Santana. Not even close. Sure, they've knocked you down. All you have to do is hit them back twice as hard."

Santana musters a small grin, because for the first time all day, it seems like there's hope. Kurt is right. She'd shown Puck, Coach Sylvester, and Quinn that they'd broken her. But that wasn't the end. She was going to show them that she was bigger than that. She was better. She'd show Coach that she could cheer better than Quinn- practice her routines until she could do them in her sleep. She'd show Quinn how much better of a head cheerleader than she- she'd surround herself with friends and others, showing them how nice and easy to follow she could be. And she'd show Puck that she was more than a slut that he could take advantage of when they both felt terrible about themselves. She'd let her personality shine- maybe even sing a solo in Glee club in the coming week.

It felt good, having a plan. She felt less hopeless. She felt like things might change.

"Thanks, Kurt," Santana says, standing up, and gathering him up in a hug. Kurt hesitates for a moment, perhaps in shock, but then he relaxes, and wraps his arms around her as well. He whispers a no problem into her ear, and lets her go. They say their goodbyes, and go their separate ways.

On the way home, each of them wonders what had just happened. What had that meant? They weren't friends, they were both sure. But they both had a better sense of who the other was. Santana would never make fun of Kurt, and Kurt would never assume anything about Santana. They weren't friends, sure. But their understanding was so much clearer.

_8o8o8o8o8o8o8_

Santana wakes up in the morning with a smile on her face. Thanks to Kurt, she didn't totally dread going to school. She quickly got ready, smoothing her uniform over her hips, and tying her hair up on the top of her head. She did her makeup, ate her breakfast, and drove herself to school.

When Santana entered the doors of McKinley High School, things seemed very much the same as the day before. However, things were so much different. She still had her hands on her hips, her ponytail swung, and her gaze was nowhere in particular. People were still whispering about her. But today, Santana wasn't head cheerleader. Today, Santana didn't have Puck. Today, she completely hated and distrusted Quinn.

And lastly, but perhaps the most significant, today, Santana didn't wear the water bra.

**So there you go. My longest fanfic to date. I've always felt that there was more to Santana than what was shown, and the "boob job" debacle drove me to write this.**

**Please review and tell me what you think! Reviews make the world go round!**


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